


better give me some time (for this heart of mine)

by lovelyflowersinherhair



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyflowersinherhair/pseuds/lovelyflowersinherhair
Summary: “Of course,” he said. “You gave me the idea to celebrate Mummy’s day today.” He leaned over and nuzzled noses with her. She giggled. “I didn’t realise that the Yanks celebrated mums in May, Hettie. No ones ever told me that. If you hadn’t remembered that we would have missed a day to dote on Mum and give her brekky in bed.” He gestured to the food. “I reckoned that we’d make enough for all three of us to eat in bed, yeah? We could cuddle up with Mum, one of us on either side of her?”
Relationships: Linda McCartney & Heather McCartney, Linda McCartney/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney & Heather McCartney
Kudos: 2





	better give me some time (for this heart of mine)

**Author's Note:**

> This was 100% inspired by the mother's day posts that Mary and Stella did on Instagram today. 
> 
> Song title taken from 'Mama's Little Girl' -- Paul McCartney

The sunlight crept its way into Paul and Linda’s bedroom windows, but Paul did his best to ignore its intrusion, determined to sleep longer than he’d managed to sleep. Linda was soundly asleep beside him, her arms wrapped around him, and her bump pressed against his back, and it seemed as if even the little one inside of her knew that his or her daddy deserved -- and wanted -- a lie in. Paul was quite frankly exhausted. 

Even though he was now the proud father of a six year old -- in addition to the one on the way -- young Heather was amazingly not the source of his current state. Sure, his little girl was a firecracker, a real spitfire, and Paul loved her for it, but in spite of her being a ball of energy, she wasn’t the reason that he felt that he could sleep for days, or even weeks. 

No. Such an honour fell -- of course -- to his fellow bandmates. 

It seemed like in honour of Paul having a six year old, the other members of his band had decided to embody the absolute worst characteristics of the average six year old, and had conspired to drive him absolutely barmy, and made him regret getting back into the studio with them to record a new record. John in particular was doing his head in. Wasn’t it bad enough that Yoko came to the bloody studio every day? Did he  _ have _ to order a bed brought in from bloody Harrods and lay with her in it, not even bothering to pretend to contribute? 

The reminder of that ridiculous display of audacity made him scowl, and he burrowed down underneath his duvet, listening to Linda quietly snore. He was just grateful that he had the day off. 

Paul had offended the others by informing them that recording the album was solely a Monday through Friday gig, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Heather and Linda were what was important to him now, and it was all well and good to leave Linda to her own devices whilst Heather was at school during the day, but he couldn’t bring himself to make her care solely for Heather on the weekends, not when his choices were spending time with his wife and daughter or spending time staring at John and demanding he get to work, which had been rather unsuccessful. At least Heather tried her best to listen to him.

The previous Friday had been the last straw, he thought to himself, as he shut his eyes and tried to force sleep to come. He had brought Heather back to the studios with him because Linda had wanted a lie-in and Paul was more than willing to take Heather off her hands in order to enable that, and John had had the absolute nerve to refer to his child as a distraction, merely because Heather had asked him why there was a bed in the recording studio, and rather loudly at that. He had thought it a fair question. Beds didn’t belong in recording studios. Heather had been right. 

But John had been obnoxious, and Paul was half-tempted to sod the rest of the recording sessions and settle in with Linda for the duration of her pregnancy. There had been no need for him to talk to Heather that way, and even less of a need for George to have agreed with him. 

“Go back to sleep,” he heard Linda whisper, and he felt her tighten her hold on him. “Whatever’s bothering you...you don’t have to worry about it now. Okay?” 

“If you’re sure,” he mumbled, unable to hide his utter exhaustion. He punctuated the conversation with a rather wide yawn. “I love you, Lin.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Paul knew that Linda loved him. It was still nice to hear. He felt her kiss the side of his neck, and he forced himself to relax, succumbing to sleep before he knew what he was doing.

“Daddy?” An insistent voice said, directly into his ear, and Paul slowly opened his eyes, unsurprised to see that Heather was at the edge of his side of the bed, clad only in her nightshirt, and magically wide awake. He envied the child that. “Are you awake?”

“Come ead,” he told her, and he patted the mattress beside him. There was enough room for Heather to climb up for a cuddle. She typically did. “Cuddle with me and Mummy.” 

“We can’t,” she said, in what he sensed was a mock-patient tone. “Daddy, we have to make Mummy her special breakfast. Remember? It’s Mummy’s day?” 

Heather had been dismayed when she realised that Mothering Sunday was in March, and not in May, thinking that it was entirely unfair that they hadn’t been able to properly celebrate it, being in New York on their honeymoon, so he had hastily promised her that they were more than capable of celebrating both holidays, rationalising that Linda deserved a proper day, especially since she was much further along than she’d been on their honeymoon. Paul loved the little sprog, but he knew that it took a fair bit out of Linda. 

“You’re right, poppet, of course I didn’t forget,” he assured her. “You’re sure you don’t want to cuddle with us before we make brekky?” 

“Dad,” Heather said. “That will make the baby wake up, and the baby will wake up Mum. We’ve got to serve her brekky in bed.” 

He leaned over and ruffled her hair. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “Let me kiss your mummy goodbye, okay?” 

She nodded. “You can kiss her goodbye, even though we’re only going into the kitchen.”

Paul grinned, and he gave Linda a kiss on the cheek, as well as an affectionate pat to the her tummy, pleased when he got a nudge from the baby in response. His duties done, he returned his attention to Heather. 

“What do you have planned for Mummy’s day?” He asked her, as he got himself out of bed and picked her up. “Just the brekky?” 

“Mummy gets to pick what we do after breakfast,” Heather told him, as he carried her out of the bedroom. “It’s her day, Da.” 

“Well, you know that it’s been a long time since I had a mummy,” he reminded her. “So I’m a bit rusty at this sort of stuff.” 

“It’s okay, Daddy,” she said, and he felt her kiss his cheek. “I’ll help you.” 

“Maybe, if the baby’s a girl, Mum and I could name her after my mum,” he said, mainly talking to himself, but also seeking Heather’s opinion. “Do you like that idea?” 

“So we’d call her Mary?” Heather asked him. He nodded. “Okay, Da.” 

Paul forced himself to not dwell on the fact that his mother had died, and he shot Heather a grin. “I think that it’s important to remember the people who we’ve lost,” he said to her. “That’s why your middle name is Louise, y’know, after Mummy’s mum? So I think that naming the baby Mary would give the two of you something else in common.” 

“The baby’s my real brother or sister, right?” Heather asked him. “Even though it’s yours?”

Paul licked his lips. “Duck, you have to know that you’re my daughter,” he assured her. “You know that, right?” 

She nodded. “You told me that, and you took me to the bakery and let me pick out my favourite cake.” 

“Yeah, well, y’know that the baby isn’t going to change any of that, right? You’re my daughter.” 

“Isn’t she going to know? That she’s really yours?” Heather asked him, and he noticed her lower lip was starting to wobble. “What if she looks like you and I look like him?”

Paul drew in a breath. He hadn’t expected Heather to be worried about that, but he reckoned that it made sense. She was only six, after all. 

“Listen,” he told her, and he perched her on the countertop so he could look her in the eyes. “I know that you’re worried about that, and I understand that you might be scared, but that’s not going to matter to the baby that’s in Mum’s tummy, okay? Or to any of the other brothers and sisters we might give you, and it certainly isn’t going to matter to me. He left you, Heather. I’m never going to do that. I don’t care who you look like.”

Heather sniffled. “Okay,” she whispered. “I believe you.” 

“It’s okay, darling,” he whispered. “I’m not cross with you or anything. I understand why’d you’d be upset, and scared.” 

She glanced up at him. “You do?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “You know that you can talk to me about whatever’s bothering you, whenever it is, right?”

She nodded. “I know. I want to make eggy bread for Mummy. Can we? With golden syrup and eggs, and bacon and potatoes?” 

He ruffled her hair. “We can make her whatever you want.” 

“Let’s do that.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Heather was embarrassed that she had gotten upset at her dad, but it seemed that her questions hadn’t upset him, so she supposed that it wasn’t worth getting upset over it any further. She knew that he wasn’t going to stop being her dad even if she looked like someone she’d barely ever met, and she was mortified that she’d let the kids at school get to her. Heather knew that her dad loved her, and that little baby Maybe-Mary would love her too, she had just been hurt when the kids at school had told her that he wouldn’t anymore. 

“It was the kids at school,” she told him, her tone miserable, and he glanced away from the bacon that he was frying to look over at her. “They were the ones who told me that.” 

“Screw them,” he said. “You’re better than the whole lot of them, and they won’t say that to you again.” 

“Why?” Heather asked him. “What are you going to do?” 

“I’ll go round to the school with you and tell them to get fucked,” he told her, and she watched him light a cigarette. “I don’t understand why they won’t leave you be. I thought for sure that coming ‘round would put a stop to it. D’you still want me to come ‘round? Because, Heather, if I’m making things worse--”   
  


“I don’t want you to stop coming to my school,” she said hastily. “You’re my dad. I want you to come.” 

“Yeah? You do?” 

She nodded. “You’re the best daddy ever, in the whole wide world. I don’t care what they say. You’re my dad, and Maybe-Mary is my maybe-sister.” 

Dad quirked his lips up into a grin. “You’re adorable, Hettie,” he said, and he ruffled her hair.

“Is that good?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, poppet, it’s brilliant. You’re brilliant.” 

Heather liked being called brilliant. Daddy told her that she was brilliant all the time, and her mum said it too, and she believed it most of the time. It was nice to hear, anyways, even when she didn’t believe it. 

“Am I?” 

“Of course,” he said. “You gave me the idea to celebrate Mummy’s day today.” He leaned over and nuzzled noses with her. She giggled. “I didn’t realise that the Yanks celebrated mums in May, Hettie. No ones ever told me that. If you hadn’t remembered that we would have missed a day to dote on Mum and give her brekky in bed.” He gestured to the food. “I reckoned that we’d make enough for all three of us to eat in bed, yeah? We could cuddle up with Mum, one of us on either side of her?” 

“I think she’d like that,” she said. “I want to see if the baby will kick for me.” 

“I bet she will.” 

Heather had been frightened by the baby’s kicking at first, and scared the baby was going to hurt her mother, but she had been reassured by her parents, and had been allowed to go with them to Mum’s baby doctor appointment to make sure that everything was okay with Mum and the baby. It had been, and Dad had told her that the baby just liked her, and wanted her attention. Heather was okay with that. 

“You think the baby’s a girl, Da?”

He nodded. “Y’know, I don’t know for sure,” he said softly, as he plated the bacon atop their plates. “But, yeah, that’s what I think.” 

Heather nodded at that. She would be okay with a sister. 

“Will you help me down?” She asked him. “I can’t get down on my own.” 

Dad scooped her off the counter and placed her on the floor, and he presented her with some flowers. “I thought Mummy would like these, did you want to give them to her? I can carry the food.” 

“They’re so pretty,” she breathed. “Pretty like Mummy. Yes, I’ll carry them.”

The smell of the food roused Martha, who peered at them from the bedroom, but Mummy was still soundly asleep, and Heather eyed her worriedly. She hoped that she was okay. 

“Go wake her up, duckie,” Dad said. “It’s okay. She and the baby can get up.” 

Heather didn’t need much more encouragement, and she carefully set the flowers on the table beside the bed, and climbed up beside her mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Mummy,” she whispered. “Happy Mummy’s day.” 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Mum said, her voice sounding awfully sleepy. “What do you mean, happy mummy’s day?” 

“Daddy and I wanted to give you a proper mummy’s day,” she told her, as she placed a cautious hand on her tummy. “Since we were on holiday during Mummy Sunday.” 

“Mothering Sunday,” Daddy clarified. “We were on our honeymoon.” 

“We made you brekky in bed,” she said, and she felt a jolt of movement beneath her hand. Her eyes lit up. “Mummy! She’s kicked!”

“She must want to celebrate Mummy’s day, too,” Mum told her. “I think she’s saying hullo to her big sister.” 

Heather grinned at that. “She’s still doing it. It tickles. Does it feel weird to you?” The baby was wriggling about in there, and Heather was entranced by her (or maybe his) movements. She shifted so that she was closer to her mum’s tummy, and she wrapped her arms around it. “Hi baby,” she said. “I love you.” 

The baby had been too abstract a concept for her to admit that she loved it before, and then she’d been scared to admit that she loved the baby because her schoolmates had told her that the baby wouldn’t want her to be the baby’s sister, but her conversation with her dad had made her feel secure enough to admit to the baby that she did love it. 

“You’re so sweet,” her mum told her, and she felt her run her fingers through her hair. “The baby loves you, too.” 

“I know,” she said, and she curled closer. “Daddy said so. That the baby was always going to love me.” 

“He’s right,” Mum said. “Are you hungry? Daddy said he made enough for all of us.” 

Heather was starving. “Are you sure you want to share your breakfast?” 

Mum nodded. “Yeah, sweetie, I’m sure. Why don’t we eat and then you and Daddy can spend the day in bed with me, cuddling? I think Daddy could use some rest.” 

“Lin--”   
  


“Don’t protest,” she said. “I want to spend time with my family. It’s my day.” 


End file.
